


A Soft Touch

by LadyBookwormWithTeeth



Series: Cherry Verse [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Master & Servant, Rumbelle - Freeform, Teasing, Tickling, feathers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBookwormWithTeeth/pseuds/LadyBookwormWithTeeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On her first day on the job, Belle chips a cup.<br/>A prequel to Cherry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soft Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

It took Belle a few minutes to calm her heart and be able to lift the tea tray without making it rattle. Being nervous at this point was silly, she knew that, but she couldn't help it. Her Master had taken her the night before and this was the first time she'd face him since he had sent her back to her room. She was no longer a maiden lady, but his personal property. She had been claimed.

Kindly, her Master had granted her most of the day to herself, so that she could think over their agreement now that she knew what to expect. He hadn't said so in the brief note served with her breakfast, but Belle could read between the lines. Specifically, he wanted her to think about their night together to make sure there were no regrets – or worse, feelings he could never reciprocate. Then, the note continued, if she was still up to it, dress as she wished, prepare the tray for tea time, and come to the great hall to serve him.

Belle didn't need most of the day to think it through, though. The moment he plunged into her for the first time she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to the life she had before. A life of hiding inappropriate books underneath her bed. Of smiling to young men who'd do nothing more than hold her hand gently while, inside, she was burning for so much more. Of burying her face into her pillow as she rolled her hips against her hand, desperately needing a third or fourth release before being able to fall asleep because her own touch was never enough.

She had told him all of that the night before, and so many other tales that had only been inside her head so far.

“One more story, my dear,” he had demanded breathlessly against her cheek, pushing deeper inside of her. “If I like it, I might let you have another one.”

And that was what made this very curious.

_Dress as you wish and come serve me at tea time._

She had expected him to order her to serve him naked.  She might have even hoped for it. Hadn't she whispered that particular fantasy inside his ear?  She had crossed the great hall the night before having a very clear image of herself in her head, wearing nothing but slippers and kneeling at his feet to take him inside her mouth. She had no idea how that worked beyond what she had read in books, but surely it wouldn't be too complicated.

Yet, he had ordered her to dress as she wished. Was he hoping that she would undress on her own accord? Or would it anger him that she hadn't followed his orders? Better not take any chances on her first day. Surely he wouldn't complain to have her naked at his feet, but she could already tell that her Master could be quite devilish if he wanted to. All he needed was an excuse to make good use of his new property.

The simple thought of it sent a chill through her body, anticipating what he might have planned for tonight.  Still, she did not dare to push her limits  yet and decided for the impractical ball gown that was her only link to her previous life. Then, as her nerves started to calm down, she made an impulsive decision  and left her undergarments behind, leaving the kitchen before she had time to think twice.

Her Master was already waiting at the head of the table. Upon laying her eyes on him, Belle felt herself  heat up quickly ,  incapable of suppressing memories of the night before. Rumpelstiltskin, however, sat impassive, seemingly unaffected by her  presence. If the dress pleased or bothered him, he did not show.

“Now that you're mine,” he said, without greeting her, “I expect you to always be at your best behavior.”

Belle put down the tray and said, “I-I understand.”

“I understand?”

She raised her eyes, momentarily lost. Then, it dawned on her. “I understand,  _ Master _ .”

“Good.” He sat back and observed her work with watchful eyes. “You might not always be able to, but I expect you to do your best to please me at all times.”

“I will, Master,” she answered, preparing the tea.

“You will address me respectfully, and always be honest.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Oh!”

Belle held up the teacup and waited for him to be done.

“And you are not allowed any sort of pleasure.”

The teacup slipped from her week hands and fell on the floor, the soft thud mixing with the sharp gasp that escaped from her lips.

Rumpelstiltskin started giggling. “Without your Master's permission, that i s ,” he added, delighted at her expression of shock on her face. “ If you ask nicely.”

Despite herself, Belle laughed as well. He  _ was _ devilish.

“Right.”

She lowered herself to the ground, a cloud of yellow fabric around her.

“Oh... no.”

Rumpelstiltskin's head peeked over the edge of the table, looking for her.

Belle looked up and showed him the teacup.

“I'm sorry, Master. It's-It's chipped.” He said nothing, so Belle added, “You can hardly see it.”

Belle was sure that the cup she was currently holding was  exactly that: just a cup.  I n the kitchen she had found four other tea sets,  all equally dusty, as if the Dark One didn't have time for trivialities such as tea.  However ,  right now  he was looking at her with a calculating expression on his face, as if deciding how to proceed next. Belle had been right in her assessment of her Master, he wasn't one to waste opportunities.

“And do you think this is you at your best behavior, dearie?”

Belle bit down on her lower lip, her mind trying to find the most appropriate response. Something that would get her off the hook. Or something that would get her bent over the table to properly atone for her sins.

“No, Master, I don't think it is.”

He could have put an end to it and done with her as he pleased with that alone. But he decided to push her a little further by asking, “And what is to be done about that?”

Belle could feel her heart beginning to race. Dare she ask for what had been in her mind all day?

“I think...” she started, taking a deep breath, “that I should be punished, Master. For being so careless.”

“You should,” he agreed, smirking at her, pleased with her answer.

Rumpelstiltskin pushed his chair back forcefully. The screeching on the floor was almost enough to make her drop the cup again.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Belle pushed herself up, placed the teacup carefully back on the tray, and smoothed down her gown. Without wanting to look too eager, she walked calmly to her Master and awaited instructions.

He eyed the table.

“Hop on, dearie.”

Her fantasy was so vivid in her mind that the words didn't get through to her until she was already bent over the table, cheek against the wood and legs spread open.

He snickered at her again. “ Been having some ideas, I see.  I said  _ on _ , dearie.  I want you to lie on it. And keep your pretty face up.”

Face burning with shame, she finally did as her Master ordered and lied on her back.

After a moment, he took a hold of her shoe.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asked, gently undoing the buckle around her ankle.

“I did, Master.” After a beat, she added, “ _Several_ times.”

“I remember.” He smoothed her calf appreciatively. “You are a beauty. And you have quite an active imagination. I particularly enjoyed the story with the men in the tavern.”

Her shoe hit the floor, the thud loud enough to startle her.

Her Master continued, moving on to the other shoe, “But for somebody who's so creative, I'm surprised there was something you failed to mention. I wonder if it wasn't in your books. Or  maybe it would feel like torture to you . Either way-”

The other shoe dropped and he took a gentle hold of her left foot.

“I think it's suitable punishment for your crime.”

Her Master used his thumb to stroke the sole of her bare foot.

“No stockings tonight?” he said.

Belle thought of her stockings and under garments, hidden in the kitchen because of a whim, and pressed her knees together. Despite the absurd amount of fabric bellow the waist, she feared he might get a glimpse of what lied beneath it and mock her for it. Eager indeed.

“What a pity,” he sighed. “They're bound to make your skin more sensitive. Although, I'm not sure that will be necessary.”

His nail scraped down her sole, eliciting a giggle out of her. Belle's first instinct was to pull her leg  free .  He didn't fight it, but o nce the shock wore off, she stood on her elbows to see the damage she had done.  Certainly she had infuriated him.  But her Master didn't look bothered. If anything, he looked victorious.

“Give it back,” he ordered, softly.

“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Because I'm not done playing with it.”

Settling back on the table, Belle took another deep breath and obeyed.

Regardless, he ignored her left foot and went to tease the right one. A handful of long nails scraping the sensitive skin was enough to make her recoil again.

He giggled manically at her discomposure. “You're very ticklish, aren't you?”

“No,” she replied, stubbornly, as if that alone would change his mind.

“Really?” he said, this time not waiting for her to be obedient and pulling her foot back himself. “You could have fooled me, dearie.”

“I meant,” she amended, before he could touch her again, “not _very_.”

“We'll see about that.” He settled both of her feet side by side, her big toes almost touching. She raised her head, watching him move, paying close attention to his fingers as he flexed them, getting ready. “Now, be a good girl and hold still for me.”

“What if-What if I can't?”

“If you're not _very_ ticklish, that won't be a problem, will it?”

“I...” she searched her mind desperately for an excuse, anything, but found nothing. “No. Master.”

He grinned. “I thought so.”

She watched as his fingers came closer to her feet, but rested her head back and gripped the edge of the table as soon as he touched her. Belle screwed her eyes and lips shut and fought the urge to laugh as he tickled up and down her soles, his fingers playing with her lightly. It wasn't unbearable, not yet, but if he decided to apply a little more pressure it would be enough to make her scream.

“Oh, Master,” she panted, as he held back to wiggle a single finger on each arch.

“What is it, dearie?”

His nail found the sensitive skin of her toes to play with and she curled them instinctively to protect herself from the assault.

“Done?” was the only word she could struggle out of her mouth.

“Done? No. Not yet. Not for a long time. Pull your toes back, dearie.”

Belle whimpered and didn't move.

“I'm waiting, dearie.”

Reluctantly, she relaxed her muscles, but as soon as he touched her, she shrieked and pulled her feet away from him.

“Seems to me like you need some help.”

To her horror, she felt his magic pull her ankles back and lock them in place.

“There,” he said, teasing her with a single finger. “Won't it be easier to be obedient now?”

Belle muffled down her giggles as best she could, but her Master seemed to know exactly where to touch her.

“Don't fight it, dearie,” he said, other fingers joining the torturous task. “You're not getting up until I hear your beautiful laughter.”

Out of pride, she held it in a second longer, as if that would be enough for him to grow bored and abandon her punishment. But then he applied a little more pressure and laughter erupted from her throat, an unstoppable torrent that echoed loud and clear within the great hall, making him double his efforts to torment her just so her musical voice wouldn't die out any time soon.

“ _Stop_!” Belle shouted, a word shrouded in breathless giggles. “ _Stop_! _Please_!”

“Are you sorry you broke my teacup, dearie?” he asked, his voice rising above hers.

“ _Yesimverysorrystopit!_ ”

“There you go,” he said, pulling back and allowing her to breathe.

Belle panted to the ceiling, unable to move for a moment. His hand slid up and down her ankle, smoothing the skin, waiting for her heart to return to a regular beat.

“It's just a cup, my dear,” he said, in a soothing voice. “Just a cup.”

“That was cruel punishment for just a cup,” Belle argued, still fighting to catch her breath.

“That was mild.”

“ _Mild_?” she repeated, lifting her head to look at him again.

Her Master shrugged. “I _could_ be cruel. But I suppose you wouldn't want _that_.”

“No, Master. I suppose I wouldn't.” She paused. “Although... should what I want really matter before my Master's wishes?”

He blinked at her and Belle was delighted to see the little twinkle in her Master's eyes as he understood the meaning behind her words.

“No,” he agreed, delighted by her answer. “You are right, dearie. It really shouldn't.”

In a cloud of smoke, he made a long red feather appear. To Belle's eyes, it looked quite menacing.

“No, Master, please!” she pleaded, already regretting her decision. But also because she thought he might appreciate her helpless pleas.

“Having second thoughts already, dearie?” he giggled, lowering the feather to scrape the skin.

Belle shrieked. “ _No_! _I'll be good_!”

“I know you will,” he said, merciless, the feather close to her skin, not touching, but almost, a dreadful promise. “When I'm done with you, you'll learn to be very careful with my things.”

He let got of the feather, but it floated in the air, brushing on her soles on its own, the touch very soft but even more effective than her Master's sharp nails. Up and down it worked, taking both of her feet at the same time with a steady rhythm. After the first few seconds, Belle sat up and tried to reach for it, not thinking it through. But her Master pushed her back and secured her wrists above her head with a snap of his fingers.

“You know the word to make it stop, dearie,” he said, above the sound of her laughter. “Otherwise, you must stand still.”

Belle roared and screamed and arched her back, pretending she could get away from his torture if she just tried hard enough. But the only words out of her were “please” and “stop” - and she knew very well that those alone would not hold him back. Rumpelstiltskin got up and paced around the table, observing his beautiful servant girl convulsing with laughter. When little tears rolled from her eyes, he stilled the feather, but kept it right there, inches away from her skin.

“Should we stop now?” he asked.

Belle heaved, but managed the word, “Break.”

“And what do we say when we need a break?”

“Yellow,” she said, still fighting for air, but firmly. She knew the word. She knew when to use it. She just chose not to.

“Very good, dearie. Don't be afraid to say it. We wouldn't want you to pass out on your first try. Besides, we are not in a hurry. And if your feet ever get tired, I'm sure we can find other places to tickle.”

He slowly pulled her skirt up, exposing her sex. Belle was too tired to feel ashamed of her nudity, or to even notice a single finger slipping between her thighs. When the feather started again, she bucked her hips instinctively and the right spot fell against his finger, adding an involuntary moan to the sound of her laughter.

“Yes,” he rasped, though Belle couldn't hear his voice now. “So many other places. And I have all the time in the world.”


End file.
